The Shadow Runners by Liz Maverick

From the Publisher

In book 3 of the 2176 Series, an escaped convict who was falsely imprisoned in a moon colony is asked to return to the place of her imprisonment by the one man she can't trust-the man who stole her heart.

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The Shadow Runners

Dorchester Publishing

All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-505-52589-5

Chapter One

Nobody lives like this if they don't have to. But it all
depends on what you're willing to do to get out. Jenny changed
her mind a lot on that score. It was amazing how easily real
life could mess with your standards.

The vendor in front of her cleared his throat impatiently as
she considered his offerings. She ignored him, using the
muzzle of her handgun to lift the bread and examine the small
slab of bloni. Meat substitutes on Macao were a bit dicey
these days, but she'd had her last round of innox shots pretty
recently. And she needed cheap fuel.

She'd been trying to get out of places like this all her life.
Except for that one year at the palace ... but, frankly, when
the grass is really greener on the other side, it's better not
to know about it all. She poked at a second sandwich. Yeah,
ignorance was bliss, for sure. Especially when it came to
synthetic meat.

She held up the forefinger on her gun hand. "I'll take those
two. And don't even try to rip me off."

He scowled, his eyes flicking from the gun in her hand to the
coins she held in her opposite palm. "You got any other kinda
value?"

"No. Do we have a deal, or not?"

He grunted, chose the coin that looked brassiest and dropped
it in a grease-smeared apron pocket.

She wiped her hand downher vest, then realized the vest
wasn't any cleaner. With a shrug, she picked up the sandwiches
and stuffed one in her mouth, using a quick chaser of alcohol
mixed with antibiotic from a flask both to kill off any newer
forms of bio-infection and any flavor.

She ate quickly, an iron grip on her messenger bag, eyes
focused on the people milling about in the square, ears
listening for unusual variations in the droning sound
filtering down from the sky above the built-up highways and
skyways. The nagging feeling of being watched followed her
everywhere.

Of course, people around here watched any female who appeared
to have all relevant body parts and at least half a brain.

Jenny turned slowly in a casual circle. Observe carefully and
pretend you see nothing. And if you do ... just keep it
steady ... keep it steady ...

Okay, who was that?

The guy was too clean, for this area. Too fit, too well-fed.
And his weapons were way too new.

Her second glance was quick, practiced, and if he hadn't
already been staring straight at her they'd never have
registered eye contact at all.

Jenny's mouth went dry, but she'd overreacted and made a fool
of herself before. Paranoia was a disease down here, blooming
out from one person and infecting a crowd like a virus. She
stopped turning, and stood motionless in front of the vendor's
kiosk, only half aware of the sandwich bread squeezing under
her nails. Her mind skidded through a list of jobs she'd had
over the past year. Who did she know ... who had she worked
for ... what jobs ... had she screwed anyone over?

It could be anything, but she always came back to one likely
possibility. Parliament. Had they come for her at last? Well,
in all fairness, she'd gone and killed a man. A very
particular sort of man. And if it were her on the flipside,
she'd still be looking for her, too.

But the members of Parliament rarely looked outside their
self-styled world, even to square up a dispute. Jenny chewed
nervously on her lip. In her case, maybe murder was worth the
trip. From a strategic point of view, making an example of
someone like her was a reasonable way to keep order, to keep
Newgate-hell, the whole of Australia-for themselves.

She shuddered as she thought of that place, those men. Hardly
men, really. More like empty souls using opiate to make their
sick reality more palatable. Creepy men posturing as
Regency-era aristocrats from a time made moldy in memory and
tainted with the worst the present had to offer. The members
of Parliament might have no control in rest of the world but
they ruled with an iron fist clamped around the throat of
Newgate City. And now, just when she was ready to believe
they'd forgotten about her, that they'd decided she was small
potatoes, that they'd never send anyone out from Newgate just
for her ... well, she always seemed to find a reason to keep
looking over her shoulder for them, didn't she?

On the edges of her consciousness, she could feel a change in
the atmosphere, the negative charge as the crowd slowly
emptied from the market square behind her. A bead of cold
sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. The vendor
stared straight in front of him, almost catatonic, as if he
could make himself invisible through sheer will. She made a
sound; their eyes met, her look a question. If there was one
thing the slummers in Macao had in common, it was a mutual
distrust of outsiders.

His gaze flicked quickly over her shoulder. Then he nodded
almost imperceptibly, picked up an empty sandwich tray from
the counter and bent down with it, scattering sandwiches as he
shielded himself below the table.

Jenny took a deep breath and split to the left.

Pushing through bodies, she hurled herself over the concrete
slab that demarcated the boundary of the marketplace.
Balancing herself with a hand to the ground, she hardly felt
it as her palm scraped hard against the concrete. She moved to
snatch the stun-gun from her left ankle holster, but bobbled
the grip; it skittered out across the pavement. She grabbed
it, reared up and accelerated to a flat-out sprint. Jenny knew
these alleys like the back of her hand and was fairly
acclimated to the pollution; there was no question she could
lose such a big guy with just a bit more lead.

The damn messenger bag thumped against her back as she ran.
She could unlock it, drop it. Not unless she had to. It held
everything she owned. Some ratty clothes, first aid, random
ammunition-nothing in there that could help in this scenario.
She had a couple of low-grade explosives, but she'd run out of
ignition clips.

Still running as fast as she could, she glanced behind her and
saw her pursuer jump the concrete barrier with surprising
ease. A double-take revealed he was talking into a comm
device. Not good.

She ducked into another side street, and flattened herself
against the wall, sliding awkwardly across the slimy bricks.

His footsteps thundered down the side street toward her.
"Don't run!" he called.

Don't run? Yeah, right. What's the one thing you do when some
huge bastard with a gun warns you not to run? You run like
hell and hope you're a better shot. Jenny flipped herself face
first against the well, took a second to try and control the
shake in her hand from the adrenaline, then fired a recon shot
around the corner. The stunner flared half-heartedly, then
sputtered and died.

Cursing a blue streak, she slammed the side of her hand
against the muzzle, shook it almost desperately, and went for
it again.

"Jenny Red!"

It worked this time, sending a flare straight down the alley.
Bullseye. The heavy grunted and reeled back, losing his
footing and slamming backwards to the ground. She stared up at
the traffic-congested sky, if not expecting a miracle, at
least a little inspiration. The sun was already beginning to
go down, and against the backdrop of electric pink and orange
neon clouds enhanced by the chemicals in the smog, Jenny could
see a copter circling above the launch pad on the rooftop.
She'd just have to throw herself on the pilot's mercy. She
swung around, looking for the rooftop ladder access attached
the high-rise behind her, and ran for it, leaping onto the
rungs. Halfway up, she looked down. The heavy was already up,
shaking his head clear like a dog ridding its coat of water.
Okay, so much for stun. She slammed the stun-gun in her leg
holster and just kept climbing.

"Don't run!" The man stopped abruptly, clearly under the
mistaken belief that if he gave the impression of retreat,
she'd somehow interpret him as a friendly. Not likely. Not
even close. Although, for a nanosecond she did consider
surrender on the grounds that it might get the idiot to quit
screaming out her name at the top of his lungs for every
bounty hunter in a five-block radius to hear. For all she
knew, Parliament might literally have a price on her head.

His dogged approach as he ran the length of the alley in what
seemed like record time sent chills up her spine. She just
kept moving up the endless ladder along the side of the
high-rise.

She was at least seventy-five pounds lighter than he was, and
gasping for air. That this guy could move so fast given his
size in this kind of atmosphere meant he had access to oxygen
poppers. He obviously worked for someone with a lot of value
to afford that stuff. Definitely not good. Made the idea of
trying to kill him a less appealing investment in the rest of
her life.

Sweat ran down the inside of her bulky protective gear, and
clearing the side of the building to the rooftop, she had to
battle a wave of nausea from the altitude and pollution
combined.

The rhythmic clang of boots on the ladder behind her kept her
focused on the copter, now resting in idle on the launch pad.
The pilot opened the door, and Jenny pulled her handgun from
the opposite holster. Glancing behind her, she saw the heavy
clear the ladder and step onto the roof.

She pointed her gun at him, gasping and gulping for air, her
finger slippery on the trigger. He stopped in his tracks at a
bit of a stalemate and she finally got a good enough look at
him to realize that he didn't have the stamp of Newgate on
him. Just a gut feeling, and it wasn't like it provided her
any sense of relief. He could have been hired through a
middleman. Although given his obvious Japanese descent, he was
likely a local. Closely shaved black hair, angular face, eyes
narrowing as he stared back at her. None of that registered
much concern. What concerned her was that the guy was built
like a Sumo wrestler-without the fat. Taking a hit from one of
those fists probably felt like slamming into a side of beef.

Slowly, he raised his gun to match. "I'm-"

She didn't wait to hear the rest. Swinging back around, she
ran toward the copter pilot, gun still raised. Shit, she was
going to have to go for a hijack.

Suddenly, the heavy was right behind her and she was flying
face first into the ground. Her gun went airborne. She raised
her leg up, bent her knee and bucked her boot violently behind
her, a cry of pain indicating she'd hit her target.

He flattened her anyway. "You keep using up your oxygen at
this rate, you'll be delirious within five minutes," he said
into her ear.

He was right, and she stopped struggling.

He sighed. "His lordship's going to be pissed."

His lordship? She turned her head toward the copter.

The engine kicked up swirls of filthy air as the pilot strode
toward them, charcoal-colored trench coat billowing out behind
him. Polarization shades obscured his face, but he looked
tough, nasty...and familiar. The royal emblem snaked around
the upper arm of his coat. Traditionally affixed in hammered
platinum, this one in the raised black leather she'd seen only
on one person before.

Holy hell. It was Deck.

D'ekkar Han Valoren, former prince and scion of the Han
monarchy, walked up to the pile of body parts that represented
Jenny and the heavy smashed into the concrete together, cocked
his head at her and removed his shades. "Jenny Red. A
pleasure." His voice was as hard-edged as she remembered, but
it still seeped under her skin like a soft growl.

"Sorry, sir," the heavy said regretfully as he finally peeled
off her. "She ran." Deck held out his hand, sheathed in a
glove made from the finest armored fabric Jenny had ever seen.

Still working to catch her breath, she let him help her up and
squinted at him through the smog. "You know, you could
just ... I don't know, send a letter. Make a call. What's with
the theatrics?"

The heavy shifted behind her; she could actually feel him
breathing down on her. Lovely. He clearly didn't like her
taking such a casual attitude with his boss. Well, that was
just too damn bad. She'd spent enough time at the Han palace
to know that the trappings of royalty might be special, but
the royals themselves were no better than the scum she lived
with now.

To others, he might command respect, fear even. But he
wouldn't get any of that from her; not anymore. True, he was
Prince Kyber's half-brother. But to her, he was just Deck.
Bastard son, black sheep of the royal family, and all-around
rebel without a cause, as far as she could figure. Oh, yeah,
plus the worst unrequited crush she'd ever had in her life.
But that was then, and "now" was turning into ... who the hell
knew. Deck took Jenny's hands and turned them over. One palm
was pretty much okay. The other was a scraped up, bleeding
mess. He managed to pick a piece of gravel out of her skin
before she snatched her hands away.

"Nice manners, your guy," she said roughly, nodding toward the
heavy to mask her confusion. Behind the palace gates, you
couldn't so much as lay a finger on a member of the royal
family-and vice versa wasn't so good an idea either. He'd only
ever touched her one time before, at the last.

"Jenny, allow me to present my associate, Raidon. Raidon, my
old friend, Jenny Red." "That's helpful. I make it a point to
always know who's lying on top of me." She touched her fingers
to her nose; they came away red with blood. "Old friend, huh,"
she noted absently as she searched in her pockets for
something to wipe her nose with.

"Do you always leap before looking?"

"It's better than being dead."

Deck's hand slid toward his breast pocket, and Jenny flinched
out of habit.

He raised one eyebrow and simply pulled out a crisp, white
handkerchief. She had to laugh. Jenny, you are so torqued.

She took the handkerchief. "Ready for surrender at a moment's
notice?" she teased, instantly destroying the fine lawn square
with the blood and dirt from her hand and face.

Deck snorted disdainfully. "To whom do you think I'm likely to
surrender?"

"Not me, clearly," she grumbled with a rueful look in the
direction of the ever-watchful Raidon. She held the mottled
cloth back out to Deck.

He shook his head. "Consider it yours."

She stuffed it in her pocket, a corner of her mind already
calculating how much value she might get for a stained
handkerchief made of the finest natural fiber-monogrammed with
the initials of a Han prince. Maybe she could get something
for it as a novelty item. Maybe not.

"Well? What are we doing here, Deck?"

"We're picking you up." He nodded toward the idling copter.
"Ready to go?"

She widened her stance and looked up at him through narrowed
eyes. "Sorry. Doesn't work that way. What's on your mind?"

He sighed impatiently. "Two things. One, I need to talk to you
and, two, I would really like to conserve what fuel I can."
She glared at him in stony silence.

"I need you to come with me. I'm not going to discuss it
here." He quickly surveyed the high rises around them. "We've
been in the open long enough as it is."

She could see his patience giving way, and couldn't help
wanting to push him to the edge. "I've been living in this
shithole for two years, and now the ... the freaking royal
brigade miraculously finds me, and I'm supposed to drop
everything and follow you. Why the hell should I?"

He took his gun out of his holster and pointed it at her
forehead. "Oh, I don't know. Because the food's better where
we're going?"

Even Raidon jerked back in surprise.

Holy hell. She swallowed hard, then rolled her eyes, making a
big show of moving the muzzle of the gun to the side with her
forefinger, and itching the spot it had touched. "Okay, it's a
need to know basis. I get it. Just one thing ... what else do I
get?"

He looked her up and down. "A bath to start."

She flushed. "For a prince, you always did make a lousy
gentleman. A bath, food, medical supplies, ammunition ... all
the water I can carry. And this is just to talk."

"I'll throw in the tantalizing conversation for free. You have
a deal."

She held out her hand.

"I trust you," he said.

"I trust me, too. It's you I have issues with." She wiggled
her fingers. "Put it here, Deck."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile as he met her in
a handshake. "A gentleman's agreement."

Raidon led her to the copter, with Deck following behind them.

"Are we going far?" she called over her shoulder as Raidon
hustled her into the back seat.

"Not that far."

"How long is this going to take?"

Deck settled in front of the controls. "I only have one major
question to ask you. How long the rest takes depends on your
answer."

She frowned as Raidon strapped her in beside him like he was
tucking in a small child. "Well ... tell me the question, and
I'll have an answer for you by the time we land."

Deck looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Have you ever
heard of Banzai Maguire?" He hit the accelerator, one eye
still watching her. Jenny hoped he'd assume it was the
gravitational pull that drained the blood from her face.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Shadow Runners
by Liz Maverick
Copyright © 2004 by Liz Maverick.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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